A Leaf in the Winds of Time
by Lord of the Gauntlets
Summary: Time does not heal all wounds. But it does manage to fix some of them! This is a really short stand alone fic, although it may be continued in the future.


**Author's note: HAHA! Look who's back with a fic that's actually got something of a plot, rather than random little fic pieces. Now for the real question... will I ever step out of my comfort zone and write for a fandom that isn't a gaming one? Probably. But it is not this day! So have some Fire Emblem while I procrastinate on everything else.  
This does indeed have a touch of AU, but that's because nothing ever goes through my central intelligence proccessor (or whatever fancy words you can think of for "brain") without me corrupting it in some way.  
Uh also trying a sort of new thing with this? It's a bit different from how I normally write, so bear with me while I try to figure it out.  
On a sort of related side note, I'm heading to a renaissance fair in a few days, and I'm fairly excited. I get to run around nerding out over weaponry and speaking my best Tolkienese.**

 **Uhh reviews are always welcome! Even very short ones are cool. Feedback, as always, is appreciated.**

 **Disclaimer: Not Mine**

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One year ago, the world had stood on the brink of ruin.  
One year ago, they too had been close to that edge. Ready to crumble into darkness. Their motley group of comrades, soldiers, and allies had been close to collapsing.  
One year ago, something had mended those crumbling bonds, and brought them closer together than ever.  
One year ago, they had fought Grima… and lived.

Well, all but one. And that one person was the one that, somehow, managed to tear his soul apart faster than Grima ever could.

Chrom didn't know what was worse; that he had lost his closest friend, or that he wished that he had been the one to deliver the final blow to Grima, even if it meant bringing the fell dragon upon his descendants. Either way, there was nothing he could do about it. Not now, not ever. He had lost, in all ways except for one. And for that one way, he was grateful. They had, at least, won the war. Grima was dead. The Fell Dragon would never torment them again.  
But that would not raise Coren from the dead. He would be gone forever, like Grima. Merely a leaf in the winds of time. And Chrom would never be able to bring him back.

Two years ago the world had been at the brink of ruin.  
Two years ago he had lost his closest friend.  
Now, he could only try to heal. Heal and place flowers on the graves of those he had lost.  
For Emmeryn, and for Coren.

But then. Three years after the death of Grima.

There was a change. Something shifted within him, and he couldn't quite pinpoint what was off. But even though he felt like he had healed, something still felt like it was missing. It felt like a scab that had healed over had once more opened back up. That feeling wouldn't go away, no matter what he did to try and fix it. Burying himself in work didn't help. Visiting the graves didn't help. Nothing seemed to fix that feeling of something missing.  
So instead, he snuck out of the palace. Well… snuck wasn't exactly the correct word. More like, he got caught by Lissa, Sumia and Frederick, all demanding to know where he was going. In the end, he had to take Lissa and Frederick along with him, while Sumia agreed to run the kingdom for a little bit. He wasn't going any particular place, but he was sure that they understood his need to just _go_. He wandered a little, and wept a little, and they journeyed across Ylisse like in the days before he became the Exalt, and the whole world went to Hell. Eventually, though, he had to send them back. Though he loved his companions, he needed peace. Time alone to reflect. To dream.

And he found himself in the field.  
The one where he met Coren.

That beautiful field in Southern Ylisse, where he had found him. And where the whole world had gone to Hell, but still.  
And he had woken up from that dream with a feeling of _right_. So he headed there. He rode across over half of Ylisse, and walked the rest, and it took several weeks, but in the end he made it.

To the Field. _The_ Field.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn't the completely empty field that greeted him. But something… something felt right. And that feeling patched a hole in his chest that he hadn't known was there.  
He woke up the next morning after falling asleep in the field feeling more rested than he ever had in… many years. In fact, ever since the war started. And then he looked next to him.

And scrambling to his feet, he looked at the form next to him.

And he took in the Plegian coat.

And the messy hair.

And the hand, that now, years later, was finally devoid of the Fell Dragon's mark.

And stared as that hand reached upwards and took his own, and something finally, _finally_ , registered in his brain.

"There are better places to take a nap than on the ground, you know."


End file.
